My Only Friend
by CeliaEquus
Summary: After many of the remaining heroes of the Second Wizarding War are killed, all Hermione and Sirius have is each other. After they grow too close for a teacher and student, Sirius tries to cut ties with Hermione. She isn't about to let him run away, not if he'll still have her. Rated for near dub-con. Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, nor am I making any money from this.


"My Only Friend"

It started only a few days after the Final Battle. There were two, heartbreaking sides of the equation: one, if Voldemort had brought all of his followers to the battle, the Dark might have won; the other, those Death Eaters who were still free were just that—still free.

For just over two days, those who were celebrating and those who were mourning were attacked. The rogue Death Eaters began a killing spree that didn't stop for over forty-eight hours, taking many of the tired and still-injured war heroes down. Yes, they all ended up arrested; but Hermione's closest friends were killed, including Harry and Ron.

Ron. Just when they were getting started, he was killed by some random masked murderer.

The day of the awards ceremony, the only Order of Merlin (First Class) that was being given was to Hermione; all the rest were posthumous awards. There were some receiving second and third class medals, but the unexpected absences were obvious.

Immediately after she had been awarded her Order of Merlin, Hermione felt the tears leaking down onto her cheeks. She shook hands and then left the stage, wandering into the shadows. Once there, she ran.

It wasn't long before she found herself in the Department of Mysteries, treading a familiar and yet distant path. She knew that the Veil was the gate between Life and Death; and while she had no solid plans to take her own life, there was a chance that the voices might give her some comfort.

She opened the door, but before she could take her first step into the room, she gaped. There was something—someone!—lying on the floor. She drew her wand, and ran down the stairs, until she was kneeling by the prone body. That hair… that form…

"Sirius?" She rolled him over onto his back, and laid a hand on his cheek. It was warm. And… and he was breathing! "Sirius, wake up. Wake up, Sirius!" She shook his shoulders, her tears now dropping onto his skin and clothes. "Sirius, please. Enervate!"

The Reviving Spell struck him straight in the chest, and his eyes opened wide. He sat up with a gasp, and held out his wand. She hadn't even noticed that he still had it until then. He looked confused when he saw her.

"Hermione? That can't be you."

"Sirius, when did we meet?"

"When did we… well, you were in your third year. It was in the Shrieking Shack. You called me 'Mr. Black'." He chuckled, and looked around. "Where is everyone? We were in battle, and then…"

"You fell into the Veil. Sirius, you died."

He looked bewildered. "Died? Then how can I be… wait. Don't tell me _you_…"

"No, I'm still alive." She stroked his hair back, finding comfort in human touch. She let out a sob, and threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, Sirius! Merlin, it's awful. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." His arms went around her waist and he held her close.

"You've grown since I saw you last. How long has it been?"

"Almost two years." She sniffed. "We defeated You-Know-Who at the start of the month. He's gone now, and all his followers are either locked up or dead."

"That's brilliant! Then why are you crying?" He pulled her back, and smiled at her. "Did you really miss me that much?"

"I…" But she burst into tears again, and it was a long time before she was calm enough to tell him all that had transpired. They huddled there together until the next morning, when some Unspeakables found them, still crying, and still holding on to each other tightly.

* * *

Grimmauld Place went to Hermione, who, in turn, offered it to Sirius. He refused the offer in no uncertain terms, but stayed with her anyway, since they needed each other's comfort and companionship. He was cleared of all charges, mainly because there wasn't room for him in Azkaban, and because Hermione made them view his memories and submit to questioning under Veritaserum. As the last surviving friend of Harry Potter, her word was respected.

Not to mention the number of single witches who saw Sirius after he cleaned up, and were simply waiting for him to go on the prowl, forgetting that he was still mourning the deaths of his best friend and his godson.

"Still not going out tonight?" he asked Hermione as she curled up in front of the fire, bedecked in pyjamas.

"No. You?"

"No."

"Oh." There was silence as both stared into the flames, occasionally stealing a glance at the other. Finally, Kreacher—who had survived, and was back at number twelve, begrudgingly serving two of his least favourite people—popped into the room.

"Dinner is ready," he said.

"Thank you, Kreacher," Hermione said, and she looked pointedly at Sirius. He sighed.

"Thank you, Kreacher," he echoed. The house elf disappeared once again, and they both stood.

"You're learning."

"You're making me go against my nature."

"I'm not going to debate this with you," she said, walking past him. It was the one thing they still argued about: the treatment of house elves. Sirius hated them even though he had only ever been exposed to Kreacher, whereas Hermione defended them as passionately as she had in her fourth year, refusing to acknowledge that they preferred servitude, and using the late Dobby as an example. The house elf who was one in a million.

The moment Bellatrix Lestrange had been killed by Molly Weasley, Sirius had been pushed from the Veil. Ordinarily this shouldn't have happened. But because Molly had killed her in defence of her child, and Sirius had _been_ killed while defending Harry (in a way), he had been able to come back. After all, had he fallen face-first through the Veil, he would have died.

Falling backwards, however, had had a different effect.

Now he was back. Hermione was no longer alone; and, for the first time in a long time, she felt alive.

Sirius lay in bed, depressed. He came back from—well, wherever he had been—to find that he no longer had his last friend, nor his godson. Only Hermione.

But, as time went on, he knew that she would do.

And, as even more time passed, he realised that she meant much more than that. She was no longer just his best friend, or even his only friend, but…

No. He wouldn't say it. Wouldn't even think it.

_Harry's friend. Only eighteen. A bookworm. Swot. Know-it-all._

_**Student**_.

She was returning to Hogwarts for her seventh year, something she would have done whether or not Harry and Ron joined her. What she didn't know was that Sirius had landed a position at the school. He'd always had a knack for Transfiguration; and with Professor McGonagall taking over the reins at the school, he was stepping in. Defence Against the Dark Arts was being taken off the curriculum until further notice, and no one was ready to teach Muggle Studies yet, either. The war was too fresh in people's minds.

And Hermione was too fresh in Sirius' mind.

"Damn," he muttered, turning onto his side. "Why her?"

* * *

Sirius had been so indifferent at King's Cross when he was seeing her off. Did she really mean so little to him? She was probably the first female friend he'd ever had who wasn't his best friend's wife, or someone he was related to. In fact, she was probably his first female friend. Full stop.

And he didn't seem to mind that it could be months before they saw each other again.

"Oh well," she murmured. "Another friendship bites the dust."

George, Charlie, and Bill were the only Weasleys left, and they had kept to themselves, with the exception of Fleur, and now Victoire. Teddy was being looked after by his grandmother, and Hermione wrote to her often. Luna had survived, but went abroad after her father was murdered, and was forgoing her last year of education. Neville hadn't died, but was in a coma at St. Mungo's, with little hope of recovery.

Yes, they had a safer world; but at a terrible price.

Since Hermione had very little interaction with anyone else, she was alone. Occasionally, a first year ran past the door, and some even gawked in at her. In the end, she pulled down the curtains on both sides, warded the door and curled up with a textbook. Hanging out with Sirius during the holidays had eaten into her studying time, but she was now on the last book. It was for Transfiguration, although she didn't know who the teacher would be.

Settling back, she took in the spells, practising the ones that she could. When the lunch lady came around, she bought a pasty and three chocolate frogs. Kreacher had made her half a dozen sandwiches and given her a flask of pumpkin juice. Even without of all that, she wouldn't have been hungry.

She was pining. Pining for Sirius Black.

"You fool, Hermione Granger," she said, clenching her hands. She forced herself to calm down. "Just… concentrate on your schoolwork."

The Transfiguration book was quickly finished, and her excitement grew as darkness fell. She lifted the curtains and looked out over the Scottish landscape. She ate her last chocolate frog, trying not to cry at the Harry Potter card. Yes. He had his own chocolate frog card. So did Ron, and Hermione. By some stroke of luck—good or bad; she had yet to decide—she had found all three with the frogs she had bought.

"Time to get changed!" her magical alarm said. She switched it off. Sirius had bought it for her as a going-back-to-school present; a surprisingly sensible gift. She closed the curtains one last time and changed. Even though she wasn't going to be Head Girl—a position she turned down the moment it was offered to her—she still felt responsible for the safety of the students, and checked all of the cabins. Everything seemed fine.

The train pulled to a halt, and she was one of the first off. She ran into Hagrid's arms, although she had to remind him not to crush her to death. She kissed him on the cheek, and he beamed at her.

"Glad ter have yeh back, Hermione!" he said.

"Glad to be back, Hagrid."

* * *

It was enough to break anyone's heart to see how depleted the older grades were. The Slytherin table was well-populated in comparison to the other houses, and they were on the receiving end of some very nasty glares. Hermione didn't both looking at the staff table, not even when Professor McGonagall started to give her speech. The words of wisdom and comfort went through one ear and out the other. It wasn't until she introduced the new Transfiguration teacher.

"What?" Hermione whispered, raising her head. Sure enough, Sirius was at the staff table, grinning as he took a bow before sitting down again. "Is he the Transfiguration professor?"

"Of course," Dennis Creevey said, talking over the applause. "Weren't you listening?"

"No. Sorry."

"Quiet down, students!" the headmistress called. They settled down, and she finished her speech; but Hermione's eyes never once left Sirius, not until Dennis nudged her, and she started to eat.

The blush stayed on her face, though.

* * *

Hermione was so excited to be back at Hogwarts—and have Sirius as a teacher—that she was out of bed early every day for the first few weeks. Sirius was a gifted teacher; although it helped that most of the female students had crushes on him, so they worked extra hard. His classes were well thought out, and Hermione wondered when he had found the time to do it all.

Probably while I was studying for school, she thought.

However, having her own quarters did have a major drawback: she didn't have other students to mother, so she sometimes risked sleeping in after a late night study session. Also, there were the dreams she was having about Sirius. They made her want to sleep as long as possible.

One day she overslept, and had to call for a house elf to bring her something for breakfast while she ran around, making sure that she had her books and homework. Transfiguration was first, which was part of the reason she slept late. But, no matter how fast she ran to the classroom, she was still five minutes late, a phenomenon in itself. Even Sirius looked surprised, but he quickly masked it.

"Detention at seven-thirty, Miss Granger," he said. "And five points from Gryffindor."

"Yes, sir," she said, flushed from her running, as she took a seat in the front.

Calling Sirius 'Professor Black' or 'Sir' had been an adjustment she had had to make quickly. It was easier to call him 'Sir', since it was close enough to his first name not to trip her up too much. She often practised saying 'Professor Black' to a picture she had of him, taken during the holidays.

This detention was going to be the first time they'd been alone in a room together since Grimmauld Place, and she was nervous that she'd fall back into calling him 'Sirius'.

* * *

"Come in!" Sirius called. The door creaked open, and he glanced up. Hermione poked her head into the room. "I said 'come in'. And close the door."

"Yes, Professor Black," she said, and obeyed. He beckoned her to the desk. "I'm sorry I was late today."

"What is your excuse?"

"I slept in, sir. I was up late, studying…"

"I gave you that alarm for a reason, Herm… Miss Granger."

"Well, I was so tired that I fell asleep straight away, and forgot to set it."

"I see." He tapped his chin with a quill. "No more late night studying. You can use this detention to catch up on work. You already do more than enough. Have some fun. Relax! What would you ordinarily do on a Hogsmeade weekend?"

"Well, in our fourth year we used to visit the cave home of one Snuffles," she said. They smiled at each other. "But usually we'd go to the Three Broomsticks, shop if we needed to, or if the boys wanted something from Honeydukes…" She trailed off, looking down. "Nice to know that I've kept alive their tradition of getting detentions."

"Oh, Hermione," he said. "I'm sorry. I should have thought…"

"It's fine, professor. Really. Maybe I should use the weekends to get more of my work done instead."

"Yes," he said, nodding. "I thought you had better time management skills."

"It's not just the working late, sir," she admitted. "I have… I have dreams."

"Nightmares about the war?"

"Sometimes. But sometimes they're very good dreams, ones I don't want to leave. It's such a relief to have them, and it's so much nicer than reality, that…"

"I know. I have those, too." Not the same ones you have though, he thought, looking down at his hands. Dreams of being with her, marrying her, having children, having grandchildren, dying at a ripe old age alongside his loving wife. Making love in bed, or beneath stars, all over Grimmauld Place, even at school. Stolen kisses in the corridors between classes. She would be teaching, too, and they'd raise their sons and daughters at Hogwarts. Studious little troublemakers.

"Should I get started, sir?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Just sit over there, and get some work done. I'll keep an eye on the time."

"Thank you."

He tried not to stare at her while she worked. Forbidden feelings for his young friend—and now student—were his safe haven, as long as no one found out about them. They kept him warm at night. Then he would kick himself for thinking of his godson's friend that way. Remus would be horrified, Harry would be disgusted. Merlin knows what James would have thought.

You dirty old man, Sirius Black, he told himself.

Awhile later, he checked the time. What had drawn his attention?

There it was again. A soft sniffle. He frowned, and looked at Hermione. Surely she wasn't crying over detention!

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"I just thought about Hogsmeade. I mean, I've done some work. I was just resting my eyes, and I thought about them. You know, they once joked that if ever I got detention, it would be for working too much. Not counting the detention I received in my first year, when we were sneaking around late at night." She shook her head, smiling. "Apart from that, they were right."

"You paid the ultimate price for your help during the war," he said. "The lives of your friends."

"At least I have you back, Sirius," she said. He nodded.

"Yes. You have me."

She sniffed again, and he went over to her desk. With a gentle tug, he pulled her into his arms, and kissed the top of her head.

"Don't leave me, Sirius."

"I won't, Hermione. I'll always be here for you. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

"All right," he said, and he tilted her chin up to look into her eyes. "I swear that, as long as I am able, I will be here for you. I swear to do my utmost to look after you, to help you, and I will be your friend forever." If only I could be more, he thought. But her smile was worth it.

"Thank you," she said. She didn't move, though. They just stood there, Sirius with his arms around Hermione, keeping her in a safe cocoon. Finally, their faces moved closer, until their lips met. Eyes closed with passion as his arms moved down until they could snake their way around her waist.

His shoulders burned where she placed her hands on them. The fiery trail continued around his back as she pulled herself up against his body. Her fingers threaded through his hair and he revelled in the slight pain from her nails. He ravished her mouth, tasting every part of it that he could. Her lips. They were so soft and warm, just like her body. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, and he rubbed against them, drawing a soft moan from her. As he pressed his pelvis upwards, stroking against hers, there was a clatter. They jumped apart and he realised what had happened. Hermione had accidentally kicked her chair over during the kiss. She straightened her shirt which had been bunching up as he held her. Turning around, he strode back to his desk.

"Take your work and go, Miss Granger," he said, sitting down. "You are dismissed."

He didn't dare look up until he heard the click of the lock. The time seemed to drag on until that moment, and he wondered if the Fates were taunting him by making him wait longer. When the door settled into place, he scanned the room quickly. No. She wasn't there.

"What did I do?" he whispered. He rested his head on his folded arms. "You _idiot_, Sirius Black. You're no good for her." He snorted. "Bet Snivellus never had this problem. For once, I envy him. Gods, what a depressing thought…"

* * *

The kiss was never mentioned by either of them, and they avoided each other as much as possible. Hermione didn't put her hand up in lessons as much as she used to—the need to prove herself ended with the war—so it wasn't uncharacteristic when she stopped offering answers in classes altogether. She had no reason to speak to Sirius outside of the classroom, or the occasional 'hello' as they passed.

As long as she kept her head down, she was safe. That was her new motto.

Time passed in this painful fashion. They both stayed at Hogwarts during the holidays, since neither wanted to stay at number twelve with only Kreacher for company, and especially didn't want to be alone together.

But then a new temptation—if it could be seen that way—was added in the form of enchanted mistletoe. If a person was trapped beneath it, only another person's kiss could set them free. Most students travelled around in pairs because of this, or even groups. The only people who didn't were the members of staff—who were exempt from being stuck under the mistletoe—and Hermione, who didn't 'hang out' with anyone. Not to the point of being comfortable walking around with them all day, merely to avoid being stuck for hours in the one place.

She thoroughly disapproved of the idea. At first, she was concerned that many students would be having their first kiss in this way, and she thought it a dreadful waste. But Professor McGonagall reassured her that only students who had been kissed before would be affected.

She still hated the idea. She suspected that the headmistress was behind it, although she could have been taking the advice of a certain former headmaster with twinkling blue eyes and a penchant for manipulating people's lives. Either way, although she managed to avoid the plant well, she only had to be caught off-guard once.

* * *

Sirius could have killed Minerva for this. When he was a teenager, he would have loved the idea of mistletoe being stuck around the school. Hell, he would have found a way to ensure that he happened to be near it at all times, ready to kiss a damsel-in-distress. Now he saw how wrong it was.

"Who came up with this?" he asked during the staff meeting.

"After the war, it is necessary to promote house unity," the headmistress explained. The rest of the staff thought it was a bad idea, too; but she didn't seem to notice. "Also, it shows the true meaning of Christmas."

"No, it doesn't."

"Christmas is about _love_."

He rolled his eyes. "Well, that's how people should take it. But the story of Christmas is about… never mind."

"Let us use the holidays to encourage the students to get along," she said. "House unity."

"Of course there'll be house unity," Professor Sprout muttered. "The students will be united in their hatred of this ridiculous idea."

While the meeting continued, Sirius thought about the clandestine kiss he had shared with Hermione. He wanted to repeat the experience again. She was perfect to him, and he wanted her. The dreams showed him what he was too scared to admit to himself.

He had fallen for her. Hard. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it, except chastise himself for feeling that way. She was twenty years younger than him, for Circe's sake!

How the hell he was going to get through the rest of the year, he didn't know.

* * *

"Whose brilliant idea was it to scatter the ceilings with this?" Hermione said, shifting her feet desperately as she tried to move from beneath the mistletoe. Terrific. Now she would have to convince someone to kiss her so that she could move.

"Hello, Miss Granger," a familiar voice said. She grimaced, and looked up as Sirius approached.

"Professor Black. Hello."

"What's the problem?" he asked, walking up to her. She winced, and pointed upwards. His eyes widened when he saw 'the problem'. "How the hell did you get yourself into this situation?"

"I. Don't. Know," she said through clenched teeth. "Either help me out of this, or find someone who can. Sir," she added when he frowned.

"Fine," he said. He bent down, and brushed his lips over hers. She gasped, and glared at him as he pushed her.

"What was that for?"

"It didn't do the trick," he said. "You're still stuck."

"Oh." She blushed. "Sorry."

"My fault. Here."

This time, when he kissed her, it was like the last time. His lips crushed hers, and she had to hold onto his shoulders to stop herself from falling over as the passion cranked up. His tongue skimmed along her bottom lip, and she opened her mouth obediently, groaning as he deepened the kiss. Moments later, he had her pressed up against the wall, and only broke away for breath before repeating the experience.

"Oh gods, Sirius," she said, turning her head to the side. Undeterred, he began to kiss his way behind her ear, down her neck, and to her chest. With her warm, bulky clothes in the way, he couldn't go any further, and he growled. She shivered, and not from the coldness of the corridor. "Sirius, please."

"That's Professor Black to you, Miss Granger."

She whimpered, and then gasped when he picked her up.

"P-professor…"

"You've taunted me long enough. We take care of this now."

Thanks to the large number of students away on holidays, and the members of staff who were shopping for Christmas presents in Hogsmeade, he carried her all the way to his quarters with no one the wiser. Even the portraits were empty, as most of them were together in the one painting, celebrating the holiday spirit.

Sirius kicked the door shut behind him, never tiring as he took Hermione into his bedroom. She made no sounds at all, not even when he dropped her onto his bed without ceremony. She merely sat up, and watched him strip.

Each inch of skin revealed made her mouth water. She had no experience with naked men, but she was willing to bet that Sirius was the best she could ever hope to encounter. He was only in his late thirties—the time he spent in the Veil didn't count, apparently—and he was a handsome man. His body showed that _very _nicely.

She averted her eyes when he removed his trousers and whatever he wore beneath them. She didn't dare look.

"Don't play the shy virgin here, Miss Granger," he said. "Take. Off. Your. Clothes."

"But I…"

"Do as I say."

She swallowed, but complied. However, he must have decided that she had taken too long to take off her shoes and socks, because he yanked her to her feet. She yelped, but fell quiet when he began to remove her robes, jumper, vest, shirt, and undergarments. He knelt in front of her to unbutton her jeans, and pulled them down along with her knickers. Her knees buckled when he blew gently against the glistening curls between her thighs.

"Oh my…"

"Natural. That will do." He stood, and she looked away again. Grasping her jaw, he turned her face towards him. "You will look at me, Miss Granger."

"Y-yes, sir."

"Damn you," he whispered, tears in his eyes. "Damn you for haunting my dreams. Damn you for teasing me with your constant presence in my life, in my thoughts. And damn you," he breathed deeply, "_damn_ you for making me fall in love with you."

An almighty shove, and she was splayed out on his covers. She scrambled until she was resting against the pillows, quaking under his predatory look, his words not even registering. She promptly forgot that he had said anything as he climbed onto the bed and crawled towards her. She panted as his gaze took in her body, and closed her eyes when she saw him smirk. But he growled again, and she forced herself to focus on him.

"Sorry," she said. He mounted her body.

"Sorry, _what_?"

"S-sorry, Professor Black."

He attacked her mouth again, and slid his hands up her arms. They barely rested at her shoulders before moving down her front, cupping her breasts and tweaking her nipples briefly. They continued their descent past her stomach, and to her inner thighs, which he forced apart. She sobbed. She wanted this, so desperately, but _not_ like this. Not now.

Sirius looked up, frowning. When he saw the tears beginning to trickle from her eyes, he snapped out of it, whatever his craze had been. Horrified, he clambered off her body, inwardly cursing himself.

"What have I done?" he murmured. She gingerly wiped away her tears, as if she was afraid that such a harmless action would rouse his temper. "My gods, Hermione. I'm so sorry. You… you have to get out. I don't know if I can control myself. I don't know what came over me."

"It's fine, Sirius," she said, her voice soft and hoarse. She slowly got dressed. He wondered why she didn't hurry. She must have been so scared. What would Harry think? He had behaved like the worst kind of person. He would never be able to look at himself again. No wonder _she_ refused to meet his gaze. He looked away, ashamed that he could be aroused by something so terrible, so foul, so _evil_. He would expect this kind of behaviour from a Death Eater.

"It's not fine. I almost… You're a virgin, aren't you?" She nodded. "Bloody hell. You should have hexed me."

"You needed me. I didn't mean for things to get this far. You know," she sniffed, "I would have. I would have done whatever you wanted me to. And maybe I would have enjoyed it, too. But I'd be submitting to a man I don't know. This isn't you, Sirius. This is… someone else." She was finally dressed and standing in front of him. He shut his eyes tightly as she raised a hand, waiting for the slap. But instead, she rested her hand on his cheek. "When you have worked out what it was, and worked through it, come and find me then."

"Hermione?" he asked softly, opening his eyes. She smiled sadly, and drifted out of the room in a walk worthy of Luna Lovegood.

He almost cracked open a bottle of Firewhiskey. _Almost_. But then he thought about what his friends would have said, what Harry would have said. Alcohol wouldn't solve this.

He had to, as Hermione said, work through the problem.

However, he was convinced that she would never want him now, no matter what she said.

* * *

It took a night of tossing and turning and fretting to realise where things had gone wrong for him. To 'work through it', as she had said.

Sirius hadn't just been sad and lonely; his dreams about Hermione had left him frustrated and longing for her love. She had always been so willing in his fantasies that he wanted her desperately, so much so that as soon as he had her alone, he was willing to take her without consent, not even considering the fact that she might object.

"You selfish prick," he said, staring at the ceiling and thinking again just how ashamed his friends would have been. "She'll hate me. She'll never forgive me. She'll…" He wiped his arm across his face, picking up the unwilling tears staining his face again.

It was too late to win her back. He knew this, even as he rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow again. But he wanted to be a better person, to be her friend if it was possible.

He had behaved selfishly. So he would do everything he could to be unselfish.

What would win her favour?

* * *

When Hermione awoke the next morning, she wondered why there was such an ache in her chest, and why her bin sat by her bed, half-filled with used tissues, and why there were tearstains on her pillow…

And, when she looked in the mirror, why her eyes were all red.

Then it hit her.

She sank to the floor, no longer looking at her reflection, remembering all that had happened. She had almost lost her virginity to the man she was in love with. Her best friend. Her _only_ friend, come to that. But, no matter how much she wanted it, she hadn't wanted it like that. She wanted the dates, the proposal, the wedding, and then to be deflowered on the wedding night.

Sirius had tried to ra… tried to r… Tried to force her. And she should have hated him for that.

…But, Circe save her, she couldn't. She only hoped that he would come to his senses eventually, and that they could have their happily ever after, or as happy as they could be without Harry, Ron, Remus, Tonks…

She sniffled and brushed away her tears. Now wasn't the time to cry. Now was the time to get on with life and wait for him to come to her… if he still wanted her.

* * *

"Master Sirius… is you telling the truth?"

"Yes, Kreacher," Sirius said. It had been a couple of weeks since the mistletoe kiss which had led to… the other thing. "You know that house better than anyone, and you know what other house elves would want." He grimaced. "Miss Granger has made very good points about your treatment in the past. I am… sorry for my behaviour, and I _request_ your help in this endeavour."

Kreacher still looked astonished. "It is a big change you is suggesting, Master Sirius."

"I know. What can I say? I've always gone against tradition."

"What is it you wants to be doing again, sir?"

"I want to change Grimmauld Place into a kind of sanctuary for house elves," he said, his legs crossed at the ankles as he leaned back in his chair. "A holiday place, as well. It's not the best place to take a vacation, I'll admit. But if humans can take a break, even just for a weekend, then why not an elf?"

"It is most irregular, Master Sirius," Kreacher said. He had reverted to that name due to the shock of his former master's idea.

"It's about time things changed. There are more house elves than necessary employed by Hogwarts – to use the term loosely – simply because they would otherwise starve on the streets, with so many of their 'owners' either dead or in Azkaban, and with fewer students than there used to be. Than there _should_ be." He looked down at his nearly empty glass of brandy. "There are still elves out there who are being abused, and some simply unable to work anymore. They shouldn't be beheaded and mounted on the wall." He held up his hand. "No, Kreacher. You may think of it as an honour, but I think it's horrific, and it shows a great lack of respect."

"Thank you?" he said, looking confused.

"Tell me," Sirius said. "Do house elves like sweets, or other things that can be bought at Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley?"

"Some of the others have tried things before," Kreacher said. "But not Kreacher. It is disgraceful how they behave. Winky still drinks Butterbeer." He shook his head. "It is not good, Master Sirius."

"But you wouldn't mind being able to buy… clothes, would you?"

"Clothes? Not clothes, sir!"

"You wouldn't be _given_ clothes," he said. "It would be more hygienic if you had something more than just a tea towel or pillowcase, though, and far more…" he waved his hand, "dignified."

"House elves is not to be seen, Master Sirius."

"And yet you are. Now, this is what I have in mind…"

* * *

Hermione was disappointed that she heard it on the grapevine. Fortunately she knew nothing about it until after the NEWTs were over with. In that time, she had been waiting for Sirius to approach her, but he had simply been too preoccupied, or too stand-offish whenever she tried to speak to him outside of class time.

"I'm too busy," he would say. So she would leave.

Now she worried that he had found someone else on his road to redemption, or whatever it was. That must have been it. She had heard Professor McGonagall talking to Madame Pince about that fact that he kept going to London every other weekend. She had also noticed the number of owls he was receiving at breakfast, and no doubt sending. Sometimes he would frown, and occasionally he would smile. But he nearly always relaxed after whatever came, and… well, what else _could_ it be but a girlfriend?

There were only a few weeks until graduation when she heard about his grand plans to turn Grimmauld Place into a kind of holiday place for house elves. He seemed to have forgotten that she had been left the house, since she had constantly insisted that he take it back. Or maybe he assumed that she would approve?

Of course she approved of them. Not only would the old Order headquarters be a sanctuary and resort, but he had arranged of kind of elf-swap program. Any of the families who still had elves could send them to the new place for a rest, and an elf would be seconded from Hogwarts in its place, now that their workload was lighter. He would personally intervene on behalf of any mistreated elf, and St. Mungo's was prepared to take on cases, or even just perform check-ups. Those elves who never accepted regular pay would be given an allowance for the duration of their stay, to be spent wherever they liked, as long as they never went anywhere alone.

She was impressed, and at first she had held some hope that he was doing this for her, knowing her strong views on house elf rights.

But the longer he kept away from her, the more her hope faded, until none remained.

* * *

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, staring dazedly at the headmistress.

"I mean that you have the job, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said.

"But… I never expected that you would accept my application. I mean, I'm so young. I haven't even graduated yet!"

"Miss Granger – Hermione – can I be completely honest with you?" the older woman asked, leaning forward. She nodded. "There is too great a shortage of people since the end of the war. We were fortunate not to lose any more of our teachers, but there is still much damage control being done, and some people find it hard to be here, knowing that this is where You-Know-Who was defeated. Many have trouble even going to the Ministry, knowing what happened…" She swallowed, taking in Hermione's saddened expression. "I am so sorry, my dear. But, despite your youth, you really are the best person for the job. Only three others applied; one has no true knowledge of Muggle things, and therefore is grossly underqualified for the position of Muggle Studies professor; another lives in France, and would have to move her entire family here; and the other…" She sighed.

"What about them, Professor?"

"You are the only one with any real practical knowledge, and I believe that the two in Britain are simply desperate for work anywhere."

"What was wrong with the third one?" she said, pressing the subject.

"It was… George Weasley." Hermione gasped. "Quite. I believe he is just trying to escape the shop that he established with his brother."

"Surely he would have more memories here…"

"Of course. Most of them would be happy memories, and with plenty of other people. But that joke shop was theirs, and too much of a reminder."

"I wonder just how much he was thinking about it when he sent an application," Hermione said. The headmistress nodded slowly. "Well, I will think about it. You see, I wasn't thinking too clearly, either, and I don't know whether I could stay here."

"Because of your own memories?"

"…Something like that."

"Or is it because of Professor Black?"

Hermione smiled bitterly. "I should have known that you would know."

"It is logical that you would form an attachment to him, and I have seen the way you keep studying him at meal times."

"Have I been that obvious?"

"You _are_ a Gryffindor, dear. We wear our hearts on our sleeves, you more than most."

Hermione groaned, and buried her face in her hands. "I love him. I've kissed him. Under the mistletoe," she hastened to add, glancing at Professor McGonagall between her fingers. "If I worked here, seeing him nearly every day…"

"Would it really make things that difficult for you, Miss Granger?"

She shrugged helplessly. "I'll… I'll talk it over with him. If he'll see me, that is, instead of performing his usual disappearing act."

Professor McGonagall looked bemused. "If he won't see you, tell me. I will arrange it."

"I think threatening him with that ought to make him see reason enough, don't you?"

* * *

Sirius sighed, and allowed Hermione into his office. The promise that she'd talk to Minerva was enough to make him give in. It was hard to deny Hermione anything, as it was.

"I've been offered the position of Muggle Studies professor," she said without preamble. He gestured for her to sit down.

"I'm aware that you were one of the applicants," he said. "Minnie told us in a staff meeting. We're all in favour of it, by the way. You're the most suitable candidate. Pumpkin juice?" He held up a bottle. "Firewhiskey?"

"Neither, thank you," she said, seeming somewhat bewildered. "Are you _all_ in favour?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "I'll understand if you don't want to accept it."

Her eyebrows drew together. "Why wouldn't I accept it? It's a great honour to work at Hogwarts, and I already have so many plans for what I could teach."

He chuckled as he sat behind his desk. "I'll bet you do. But I'm surprised. You'd willingly, knowingly live in the same building as me?"

"We get on well, when we're not discussing house elf rights," she said. "Although I've heard that that wouldn't be an issue anymore…?"

"Yeah," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "About that—"

"It's a marvellous idea," she said. "A holiday home for house elves. A sanctuary from terrible positions. All of it."

"And you don't mind me using Grimmauld Place?"

"Sirius," she said softly. "I kept telling you to take the house. I still intend to find my parents during the holidays, and give them the option of returning here. If they don't want to, I could take their home. And if I become the Muggle Studies professor, I'll live at Hogwarts."

"I was thinking," he said. "George Weasley. He obviously wants to get away from the shop for awhile. If he promised not to experiment on the house elves, he could look in on them, contact me if there's trouble, be their human liaison. We could set up a link between Grimmauld Place and Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. He's got other people working there anyhow."

"That's a very good idea, Sirius," Hermione said, and she smiled.

"But… that's not what I meant when I said I was worried about living in the same place as you."

"Oh?"

"I mean… after what happened over Christmas. With the mistletoe?"

"Ah," she said, nodding. "Don't worry, Sirius. It's all forgotten. I've moved on with my life, as you can tell, and I know you've moved on with yours, so I have nothing to fear. Not that I ever really feared you. Perhaps when I thought you were a murderer, but then I was thirteen or fourteen at the time."

"I haven't, you know," he said, clasping his hands on the desk. "Moved on. From… from what I feel."

She cocked her head, and frowned again. "Then why haven't you been back to see me? Why do you keep _avoiding_ me?"

"Didn't want to risk a repeat."

"…Sirius, I told you to come back to me after you'd sorted it all out. If you still wanted me, really wanted me, in a romantic way… you were supposed to come to me. Then when all the owls started coming to you, and you were always busy and away in London, I thought you had a girlfriend. I had to try and move on because I thought _you_ had. Now you're telling me that you haven't? That you… that you might love me in return?"

"Love?" he said, looking up at her. "You love me?"

"I thought it was obvious! Professor McGonagall told me she could see it. I know I've hardly been subtle, and I certainly couldn't have been any clearer at Christmas. Once you knew what you wanted—"

"You," he said. "Only you. You're all I want, Hermione."

There were tears in her eyes as she smiled. "Then why don't you kiss me?"

He growled as he stalked around the desk. Hermione stood to meet him.

"I'll do more than kiss you," he promised. "I'll kiss you, and court you, and marry you, and we'll spend our honeymoon finding your parents. Then when school starts again, there'll be two Professor Blacks at Hogwarts."

Hermione held onto his shoulders, beaming. "That sounds perfectly marvellous," she declared.

This time, she made the first move.

* * *

**I began writing this story on the 18****th**** of December, 2011, and at some point didn't continue it. There were notes, but then it lay forgotten.**

**Finally, on the 17****th**** of December, 2014, I read what I'd written and then finished writing the damn story. So guess who's posting it on the third anniversary of its creation? I am, that's who. (Well, who else is going to, let's be honest?)**

**Please review! It's been a long time since I've written much in the way of Harry Potter fan fiction, and I'm not saying this will break the ice. But at least I'll have finally written and posted it. One less loose end.**


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